Run Fatboy Run

AMY BIANCOLLI, Copyright 2008 Houston Chronicle |
March 28, 2008

Dennis (Simon Pegg) tries to win back the affections of his fiancee by running a marathon in Run Fat Boy Run.

Photo By Picturehouse

Dennis (Simon Pegg) must show that he's more than a quitter in Run Fat Boy Run.

I'm not fat! I'm just unfit!'' objects Dennis at a key moment in Run Fatboy Run, and I have to agree with him. Yes, he has an undefined horizontal mass around his middle, and no, the sight of him in too-tight, teeny-tiny exercise shorts is not recommended for more sensitive viewers. But he isn't fat.

And fatness isn't, shall we say, the bottom line. The film is more concerned with running - fat or not, Dennis is always on the fly. In the opening scene he hot-foots it from his pregnant girlfriend on their wedding day, establishing right from the start that he's possibly a coward, likely a fool and quite obviously prone to flop sweats. His is a face with two skin-tones: pink and fuchsia. He's a man who lives in holy terror of finishing what he's started.

But because he's played Simon Pegg, we can rest assured that deep down, he's an OK bloke who'll prove himself before long. Pegg has both a gift for precise physical caricature and an open-faced, sympathetic hamminess that make him instantly authoritative in any role, whether he's battling an evil supermarket mogul (as in Hot Fuzz) or fending off zombies in a blood-soaked shirt (as in Shaun of the Dead).

His wicked comic timing is always a force to behold, but in Run Fatboy Run, it's the steam that runs the engine. This is not a film with blazingly original ideas or a groundbreaking script - I guessed the ending before the movie even started - but it has a sweet nature, an abundance of laughs and plenty of Pegg to spare. Props to David Schwimmer, who makes his feature directorial debut (after 10 episodes of Friends, two episodes of Joey and sundry other TV projects) with this small, beguiling comedy about a demoralized London security guard in a race to win back the woman he loves.

Her name is Libby (Thandie Newton), and of course she's dating a muscled American prig (Hank Azaria). Of course he's wealthy and handsome and athletic, and of course he's planning to run a marathon. Of course Dennis, on hearing this, resolves to run the same marathon despite being heinously out of shape and having a mere three weeks to train. He wants to show Libby he can finish something, anything - that he isn't the feckless lout who left her preggers at the altar.

Libby remains suspicious (who could blame her?) but also nurses a soft spot for Dennis, who shares custody of their now-5-year-old son, Jake (Matthew Fenton). Having established Dennis a prime boob and decent if clueless father, Pegg and co-screenwriter Michael Ian Black (The Pleasure of Your Company) then move on to the requisite Rocky-drinks-raw-eggs-and-jogs scenes. This is where Dennis' shorts enter the picture, albeit barely, along with an acute case of groin rash that afflicts him on the job at a women's clothing store. (``Keep your hands out of the scrotal zone whilst you're at work,'' warns his boss.)

The plot also involves a friend with a gambling habit (Dylan Moran, Shaun of the Dead) and an effusive Indian landlord (Harish Patel). None if this is all that inventive, but most of it made me laugh like a ninny, anyway, and I misted up on cue at the climax. The film swings easily from nutball Britishisms to American clichés (the underdog; the jerkwad beau; the body fluid gross-out), and its mid-Atlantic, multiracial tone yields a vibe of relaxed cultural compromise. This is a nice movie about a nice guy, no matter how he finishes - first, last or not at all. Let's just say I rooted for him.